


Coffee and Cologne

by elxse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Tony Stark, British vs American, Bruce Banner is an Angry Cinnamon Roll, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Closet Case Steve Rogers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Gay Steve Rogers, Gryffindor Steve Rogers, Hunk Steve Rogers, M/M, Marvel/Harry Potter crossover, Pansexual Tony Stark, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Quidditch, Sassy Tony Stark, Slytherin Tony Stark, Snarky Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Drinks Coffee, Steve Rogers Hits Puberty, Steve Rogers is Very American, Steve Rogers is a Good Boy, Steve Says Pal a Lot, Tony Hates it a Lot, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Plays Quidditch, Tony Stark is Not, Tony Wears Expensive Cologne, Vision is a Ghost, coffee vs tea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-04 17:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11559648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elxse/pseuds/elxse
Summary: There were only two things Tony Stark hated about being a Slytherin. Mind you, the title of Head Boy of a Hogwarts House wasn’t to be taken for granted, but still. Tony was pissed.---Or, the one in which Slytherin is forced to get cozy with Gryffindor, Tony is forced to get cozy with Steve, and Tony doesn't like it in the slightest.That is, until he kind of does.





	1. Chapter 1

There were only two things Tony Stark hated about being a Slytherin. Mind you, the title of Head Boy of a Hogwarts House wasn’t to be taken for granted, but still. Tony was pissed.

For one, everyone seemed to hate Slytherin, as if each and every one of them was somehow inherently evil. Tony was no angel, but he certainly wasn’t evil either. Corrupted, sure. A bit… promiscuous, maybe. But not evil.

Anyway, the everyone-hating-Slytherin thing must have been why they were crammed into the dungeons and expected to live comfortably down there. That led Tony to the second thing he hated: “living comfortably down there” was no longer remotely possible.

During the Battle of Hogwarts, Dumbledore’s ingenious weather charms had been destroyed, leaving the rest of the professors to attempt to replicate the extremely complex incantations and spells. Which they hadn’t succeeded at yet. Which meant that now, during the first November after the battle, the already uncomfortable Slytherin dungeons were rendered completely and utterly bone-numbing frigid.

Tony  _ loved  _ it.

He especially loved the fact that this bone-numbing frigidity apparently had only one solution: move all the Slytherins to the Gryffindor dorms for the entirety of the winter, of course. Obviously.

McGonagall claimed it was because Gryffindor had the largest dorm system, but Tony had the sneaking suspicion the headmaster secretly wanted to try and force the two biggest rivals of the school to get along out of pure schadenfreude. Because what else would it be? Why else would the headmaster get it into her head that this would be a good idea? Had she become best friends with Peeves? Had she gotten into Tony’s firewhiskey stash? Had she…

“...Tony? Tony!” His head whipped around and then slightly downward as he snapped out of his inner rant and a pretty, petite ginger fourth year came into his focus.

“...Oh. Pepper. Hi. What did you want?” The girl looked up at him with a small smile he assumed was intended to be cute. The girl was smitten. It was slightly amusing to Tony. 

“We’re almost there, Tony.” Ah. That. 

As he conveyed the message back to his house, he looked behind him at the wandering mass of Slytherin students trailing along in his wake. None of them looked particularly happy. Most of them looked rather irritated, in fact, a feeling he empathized with greatly. When he said most, however, he meant nearly all but one: James. Bloody. Buchanan. Fucking. Barnes.

The bloke was ecstatic. Something about staying with his “best pal” - maybe somebody was finally getting more action than Tony. Hardly likely though, with that puppy face of his… He certainly seemed to be a fan of a certain Gryffindor prefect, however. Bloody hell, he probably even rooted for the Gryffindor quidditch team more than for his own.

Tony turned his head back to the front as they approached a hideous portrait of a rather bovine, morbidly obese woman. Tony knew of this portrait and had passed by it various times in the past, but he still had to wonder each time what on earth the Gryffindors had done to deserve such an abomination as the entrance to their common room. They were probably major gits at some point, Tony figured. He wouldn’t be surprised. They kind of still were.

“Welcome to the Gryffindor Commo-  _ oh,”  _ the Fat Lady snarled, cutting off her typical loud, melodramatic greeting song. “Oh  _ no. _ Certainly not. There is no way in Dumbledore’s castle I will let any of you slimy, slithering  _ beasts _ -”

“Er-” Tony attempted to interject.

“-into MY Common Room!”

Tony stared daggers at the Fat Lady before affecting a sickly sweet smile and holding up his hand to stifle the aggravated grumbling behind him. “Well, I’m afraid it’s McGonagall’s orders, so open u-”

MCGONAGALL SHMCGONAGALL! I hardly listened to Dumbledore, so what makes you think I’ll deign to listen to this  _ newcomer _ ?” the Fat Lady harrumphed. 

Tony strained to keep a smile, his resolve slowly draining. “Okay -”

“I’ve got this, Stark,” said a steely female voice to his left. The well-muscled, svelte form of Sif Valhalla, the Head Girl, stepped in front of him. “Listen, Lady. If you don’t let us say the bloody password and get inside, I will personally  _ Reducto  _ your fat arse off the wall and -”

“OH HO! And now you threaten me! That’s  _ it, _ you rotten snakes. I’m changing the password.” This time, Tony’s facade vanished and was replaced by an irate glare. The Fat Lady pouted in response. “And you couldn’t even guess it if you tried.”

The corridor went quiet in tense anticipation. Tony continued to glare unflinchingly at the Fat Lady while Sif raised her wand slowly. The Head Girl of Slytherin didn’t bluff. She had just opened her mouth to say the incantation, however, when a voice rang out in the crowd behind him. “STEVE!”

Sif’s voice died in her throat and she looked back with an icy glower at the source of the outburst. James Barnes, of course. Tony’s expression mirrored Sif’s. 

He then shifted his gaze behind James to the source of another jovial - and disgustingly American - yell: “Bucky! Hey man!” and watched as a hulking figure came out of the gloom of the corridor, gently muscled through some disgruntled Slytherin sixth years, and slapped James rather roughly on the back.

Tony’s expression had now transitioned into that of blank shock as he took in the exchange and the newcomer. So this was Steve. Tony vaguely remembered him as a skinny little beanpole at the sorting hat ceremony Tony’s second year, looking comically awed as the Sorting Hat nearly instantly placed him in Gryffindor. Save for a few times passing each other in the halls,  that was the last he had seen of him until now.

Puberty had hit him like the Giant Squid crash landing on a broomstick.

Not only did he now tower over most of the surrounding students, he also happened to be rather gorgeously toned, if Tony did say so himself, and his shoulder to waist ratio didn’t entirely seem possible. As the mystery boy approached, Tony got a closer glimpse at his face, and… bloody hell. That jawline could cut steel.

He realized he must have been gawking or something like it because Steve just kept on approaching, until he was right in front of him and Tony had to crane his neck back a bit to look up at him. “You all right, pal?” came the American-accented inquiry that snapped Tony out of his ogling session.

_ Pal.  _ There it was. The boy had called him  _ pal. _ He was ridiculously, unfairly attractive and he had called him  _ pal.  _ Tony decided he hated this Steve person.

Tony cleared his throat before replying in a dry tone, “One, not your ‘pal'. Two, I would be ‘all right’ if this  _ hag  _ would let us in your bloody common room, but since that doesn’t seem to be the case, no. I’m not ‘all right’.” 

Steve raised his eyebrows some but otherwise didn’t appear to be bothered by what Tony had said. Instead he gave a small grin (Merlin, could he  _ stop _ ?), put his hands on his hips, and swiveled towards the portrait of the Fat Lady. And god-fucking-damnit, if that wasn’t the finest arse he had ever seen on a male. Scratch that, on anyone.

Tony really hated him now. 

Strolling right up to the Fat Lady with hands still on hips, the boy spoke again. “Etheldreda! How are ya, ol’ gal? What did they do this time?”

Sif looked rather offended. “What did  _ they  _ do?! She’s the one who -” 

“ _ I  _ was the one who acted completely appropriately to a bunch of slimy, cold-blooded -”

“Etheldreda,” Steve admonished.

“Sorry dear, but it’s true! They’re nothing like you, sweetums, they’re horrid, you see, and they’re trying to invade! I’m simply protecting you, you and the most Valiant House of Gryffindor.”

After patiently waiting for her to finish, Steve continued to smile as he said, “Well, you see, you may be right, but they have no place to stay for the winter and we said we’d take them in. I don’t trust them either, but rules are rules, all right? Please, for me?” he added when she looked extra reluctant.

The Fat Lady pouted for another ten seconds or so, to which Steve waited patiently with an expectant face and Tony tapped a foot, and then she finally let out a long, drawn out sigh.  _ So dramatic,  _ Tony thought. “Fine. Password’s back to normal. But don’t any of you  _ dare  _ think that I’m okay with you rats staying here. Pah!” she concluded, before crossing her arms and looking at Steve impatiently. 

“Excellent! Great. Okay Etheldreda, uh,  _ Ornery Occamy?”  _

The Fat Lady rolled her eyes and swung the door open. Steve flashed a winning grin back at Tony and Sif. Sif gave him an exasperated but slightly grateful look, and Tony offered a heavily sarcastic “Yeahh, thanks  _ pal!”  _ before shouldering his way through the entrance with an irritated grunt. He thought he might have seen Steve stifle a laugh out of the corner of his eye. The  _ nerve. _

As the entirety of Slytherin piled into the common room, Tony took the place in. It looked ridiculously… comfortable, almost disgustingly so. Absolutely everything was red or gold or both, even the carpets, which were - and Tony wasn’t kidding - everywhere. Literally. Nothing was solid, everything was plush, and Tony hated it.

This was going to be an  _ amazing  _ winter.

By the time all of Slytherin was hustled in and Tony was rather unceremoniously maneuvered onto a sofa that he sank halfway into, he felt like he may have been about to suffocate on the stuffiness. His entire house plus at least half of Gryffindor (most of whom were just milling around in curiosity or lurking to witness the drama and tension) were in this one room, and it may have been a large space, but Tony was fairly sure it was probably about fifty people above capacity.

To top it all off, across from the sofa that Tony, Sif, and the Slytherin prefects (including James Barnes, to Tony’s chagrin) were sitting on, the Gryffindor Head Girl and Steve were perched on a chaise lounge, their postures alert and their expressions an interesting mix of exasperation and feigned friendliness. Charming.

Once everyone was more or less settled or attempting to be comfortable in one of the numerous oversized plushy armchairs, Steve spoke up first. “Hi everyone! The name’s Steve Rogers, but you can call me Steve.” Tony made a mental note to call him “Rogers” from that point forward. “I’m one of the Gryffindor prefects, representing the gents since our Head Boy Thor is… currently not present.” Tony refrained from an eye roll. Everyone knew he was likely off shagging his muggle girlfriend. Well, everyone except the professors, apparently (but Tony had a sneaking suspicion they knew too). 

“And I’m Maria Hill, Gryffindor Head Girl. And unlike the Head Boy, I happen to have priorities,” the female on the chaise said with a pleasant smile. At this, Tony couldn’t help but return the gesture with a small inward smirk. He hadn’t expected that level of sass from her, and he liked it. “But, until dear Thor can sort out his and grace us with his presence, I’m in charge of Welcomes. so. Welcome to Gryffindor!” 

A chorus of various responses, including “Cheers,” “Whatever,” “Pleasure,” and “Please get this over with,” filled the room for a few moments. Tony raised his hand after a bit and the murmurings eventually died out. 

Putting on a winning facade, Tony replied, “I assure you, we’re all thrilled. Now,” he continued, casting a pointed look at Steve, who raised his brows but didn’t otherwise alter his expression, “I’m sure some of you fit the Gryffindor stereotype to a T, so let’s set down some ground rules that will probably be broken within the hour.”

Maria shot Tony a steely look. Steve gave an easy chuckle.  _ Damn you, Rogers. _

“Ahem. Well, since you asked so nicely,” Maria chirped, regaining her composure, “I’d be happy to oblige. First things first, of course, no boys in the girls dormitories, and vice versa.”

“We may get around quite a bit more than you lot, but we’re not daft,” muttered Tony. No response. 

“Next, Slytherins and Gryffindors will not engage in any combat or duels within Gryffindor premises.”

“No promises,” a particularly bold Gryffindor underclassman growled. Sif smirked.

“If Slytherin is the winner of a quidditch match, they will celebrate elsewhere.” 

“Yeah,  _ if.” _

“Not like we would throw a party in this fluffy pigsty.”

“Better than your dingy sewers.”

It continued like this for several minutes, during which Maria listed various other unnecessary rules (including - Tony’s eyes rolled to the back of his head at this - the rule that Gryffindors got first call for showers). Finally, everyone was allowed to mill around into their shared dormitories, inside which the beds had been transfigured into two-bed bunks and students would simply have to get creative with the allocation of their belongings.

This applied to all dormitories but the prefects’ and Head Students’, who had rooms to themselves and merely had another bed moved in across the room from it. Tony was relieved when he learned this; he much preferred that arrangement to having to get cozy with one of these red and gold gits.

However, his relief was short-lived when he then learned that because Odin Borson, the Head Boy Thor’s father, was rather… influential (wealthy) when it came to overseeing his son’s treatment at Hogwarts, Thor was to have his own room at all times, no questions asked. That meant that, of course, Tony was relegated to the room of the next step down on the totem pole, and that was none other than Steve Rogers himself.

Everyday.

For the entire winter.

_ Fan-fucking-tastic. _


	2. Chapter 2

Things became exponentially worse the moment Tony entered Steve’s dormitory.

Everything - yes, everything - was covered in American flags. From his bedspread to his drapes, nothing could escape the all-consuming stars and stripes that devoured every surface. Tony knew Steve was American, but  _ really? _

Spotting Steve’s looming figure out of the corner of his eye as he calmly strolled into the room, Tony affected a sneer and said, “Looks like sensible decor isn’t your thing, is it Rogers?” before tossing his messily packed trunk at the foot of a bed and flopping down onto the bedspread lazily. 

“Looks like sensible behavior isn’t  _ your  _ thing, is it Stark?” came the reply.  _ Ouch. _

Tony played off his mild surprise with a snicker and looked Steve over from his lounging position on the brightly spangled bed. Steve had his hands on his hips again - which showed off a pair of frustratingly commendable biceps - and a somewhat impatient look on his face. “...What?” Tony asked.

“That’s my bed.”

“And?”

“And yours is over there, pal.”

There it was again.  _ Pal.  _ It instantly made any inclination Tony had to actually move disappear without a trace. He glowered at Steve icily. “Well tough luck,  _ pal, _ looks like that one’s yours now, otherwise you’ll have to move me yourself.”

Tony instantly regretted saying that, because as soon as he did Steve considered a moment, gave a light shrug, and strode nonchalantly over to him. The next thing Tony knew, he in his entirety was being hoisted off of Steve’s bed, thrown over his broad, muscled shoulder with little effort, transported across the room, and tossed unceremoniously onto the extra bed.

If Tony hadn’t been utterly baffled and completely furious, he might have been aroused.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Tony heard the next morning was a rhythmic grunting.

However, he was face-down with his head swallowed by his patriotic pillow, so he was left to process what he was hearing for a few moments without a visual aid. Thus, he came to exactly the same conclusion one might expect to make when one hears rhythmic grunting, and he shot up, whipped his head around, and opened his mouth in preparation to yell angrily at Steve.

...And his voice died in his throat, because what he saw was not what he expected at all, and instead something he quickly and decidedly chose not to interrupt. On the opposite bed was Steve Rogers, clad in nothing but a pair of American flag boxers, lifting absurdly large weights. And grunting with the effort, of course.

Oh.

Steve glanced up casually at the noise of Tony’s movement, and cocked his head to the side at Tony’s slightly agape expression. “...Morning,” he said, sounding somewhat amused. Tony, noticing his own open-mouthed stare, shut his mouth hastily but still said nothing, instead opting for a noncommittal huff and an eye roll. Unperturbed, Steve continued, “I’m about to head out for my morning run through the grounds, care to join me?”

That time, Tony gave a sharp snort, muttered, “Bloody hell, in your dreams, Rogers,” and flopped back into his pillow before returning to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The second time Tony woke up, Steve was not in the room. Tony ran a hand over his face and through his hair as he silently thanked Merlin. Then, he tumbled out of his bed, pulled himself to his feet with a yawn, and made his way to the foot of his bed to retrieve clothing for the day.

Quite soon thereafter, Tony immediately changed his mind about the silent thanks. 

Steve Rogers had not only moved Tony’s pile of belongings back into his trunk, but he had also neatly organized and sorted everything from his Slytherin scarves to his sizable collection of wand polishers. Every single object was tucked away into its own specific section. 

Tony groaned. How would he ever find anything now?

He proceeded to attempt to locate and remove his robes for the day from this meticulous atrocity, but he quite quickly ran into exactly the problem he expected.  _ Bloody hell.  _ “ROGERS!” he yelled from the doorway of the dormitory into the common room, “WHERE ARE MY UNDERWEAR?!”

After a small pause, “The black silky boxers or the green silky briefs?” came the loud, infuriating, American accented response. He promptly heard some equally infuriating cacking from Bucky Barnes.

That backfired. 

Before he could fire back a biting retort, he finally spotted the necessary undergarments folded neatly and placed beside his pyjamas. Sighing extendedly, he yelled back, “Oh, bugger off you git, I found them!”

More cackling.  _ Kill me,  _ thought Tony. 

 

* * *

 

The next few days passed relatively uneventfully, since Tony tried his best to avoid Steve and Steve seemed to let him, for the most part. During the school week, Tony always slept so late he completely missed the earlybird Steve in the mornings. The only time they came in contact was during Potions class (Tony had only quite recently learned they sat across the room from each other) and after classes in the common room and dormitory (where, again, they minded their business across the room from each other).

The first conversation - or rather, argument - that Tony even had with Steve occurred on the Wednesday morning after the weekend that Slytherin moved in. Some nit-wit had been practising transfiguration in the common room, and now the wall clock-turned-mandrake was running along the boys’ dormitory halls screeching it’s little heart out. Thus, Tony was unceremoniously woken early from his precious slumber and forced into the common room to escape the racket the poor creature was causing.

This was when Tony, dressed in a hastily thrown-on fleece-lined silk bathrobe that he hadn’t bothered to tie around his black silky boxer-clad body, stumbled grumpily into the common room and immediately voiced his need for caffeinated tea to nobody in particular.  “Tony! You’re up early,” chirped a quite awake Pepper Potts, as she approached him with a steaming mug of English breakfast tea and offered it to him sweetly. That was quick.

“Right, well, I sure wouldn’t be if that abomination of a plant hadn’t decided to ruin my morning,” Tony grumbled. “What bloody idiot even let that thing loose in the first place?”

Pepper gestured with a strained smile over to a rather frantic-looking first year Gryffindor boy with slightly mussed brown hair and slightly too-large glasses, dashing from the hallway into the common room right behind the wailing mandrake. He seemed to be simultaneously running, tripping on or leaping over most articles of furniture, running into most students, and apologizing profusely for it, all at once and very quickly. The only thing he wasn’t managing to do was catch the damn plant. Tony watched him somewhat bemusedly as the chase returned to the hallway again.

“...And who was that?”

“Er, Parker, I believe. Peter Parker. He tried to transfigure a clock into… something other than a mandrake, I’d wager, and didn’t entirely succeed.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“Well. Cheers for the tea; I’m going to sit down now,” Tony told Pepper matter-of-factly, before brushing past her with an aggravated cross between a grumble and a sigh and moving to sink into a plushy armchair.

Said armchair happened to be across an ottoman from Steve, who was peacefully reading an American wizarding newspaper and sipping from a mug that read “BACK TO BACK WORLD WAR CHAMPS.” He looked entirely unbothered. And in the mug… was that… was that  _ coffee?  _

Of course it was. Tony didn’t know why he was surprised. “The stench of that stuff is bloody disgusting, Rogers,” Tony muttered. He despised coffee.

Steve glanced up at Tony from his newspaper, and Tony noticed him somewhat discreetly appraising Tony without shifting in position, his eyes flitting over Tony’s figure as he sprawled leisurely on the armchair, robe still open. The action was very brief but didn’t go unnoticed by Tony. Inwardly smirking but unsure how to feel about that since he was still supposed to be annoyed with Steve right now, he merely raised his eyebrows and waited for a response. 

Holding eye contact with Tony now, Steve took an unhurried sip from his black coffee without flinching - did this boy have a  _ soul?  _ \- and set it down on the ottoman. Smiling slightly, he replied, “Funny, I was going to say the same thing about that cologne of yours, but then I remembered I happen to know when to keep things to myself.”

Damn.

Tony let out a surprised bark of laughter before leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands positioned on his face in mock interest. “Wow, Rogers, been sniffing a little too closely, now haven’t you?” He might have enjoyed the uncomfortable look Steve gave him as he somewhat awkwardly adjusted his position on the sofa he was seated on. 

Clearing his throat, Steve replied stiffly, “Hardly, Stark, the smell is all over your side of the room. Do you bathe in that stuff or something?”

Electing to ignore that question, Tony shot back, “I’m sure it’s not nearly as bad as you make it sound, certainly not as horrid as that tar you have.” He gestured to the mug of frothy black liquid. “Can’t imagine how it tastes.” He leaned back in the armchair again, taking a sip from his tea.

“It’s actually not that bad, once you get used to it,” Steve replied, less stiff now and more engaged in defending his beverage. This amused Tony. “You should try it sometime. Has more caffeine, so maybe you wouldn’t be so… broody all the time.”  _ Broody?! _

“My word, Rogers, I am not  _ broody, _ ” Tony snapped. Steve raised his eyebrows. Tony was beginning to loathe those eyebrows.  _ What a prat. _ “What are you, a teenage girl? Nobody says  _ broody _ . Is that an American thing?”

Steve chuckled. Tony frowned. “Is your rudeness a British thing?” he responded easily with a smile. Tony almost growled. “Whoa, pal, easy there. I’m just messing with ya. Here, have some coffee, it’ll cheer you up.” 

Tony glared straight at Steve with animosity. He did  _ not. Just. _

Steve looked like he was holding back a grin. His eyes - exceptionally blue, now that Tony was paying attention - were twinkling with amusement. As furious as Tony was right now, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the fact that not only could this boy quite easily hold his own in an argument with Tony, but he was having  _ fun _ . It caught him rather off guard, and Tony wasn’t entirely sure whether it was a bad thing or not, considering it was actually - and Tony hated to admit it - fairly impressive. 

However, Steve had struck a nerve and Tony was determined to remain offended by his words. He was not going to back down to this entitled American arse, no matter how frustrating and distracting his demeanor was. Working his face into a somewhat disconcerted scowl, Tony stood up abruptly from his armchair. “You know what, fuck off, Rogers,” he sneered, before turning on his heel with a huff and storming off back to his dormitory to get dressed.

A low whistle sounded behind him as he stalked away. Tony ignored it with determination.


End file.
